


Devil's in the House of the Rising Sun

by O4amuse



Series: Five Little Pigs [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Angel Tablet, Astrophysicist Castiel, Bottom Sam, Canon Levels of Meta, Comforting Dean, Demon Blood Addiction, Demons, Drug Withdrawal, Established Relationship, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Sam Winchester, Parallel Universes, Sad Ending, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Shower Sex, Soul Bond, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Tortured Dean, Trials, angel trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O4amuse/pseuds/O4amuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, what you’re saying,” Dean said in a deceptively calm voice, arms folded tightly across his chest, “is that any demon who was topside when I finished the Trials did not, in fact, get a one-way express Down Under.”</p><p>“That would appear to be the case,” Castiel replied. </p><p>Dean nodded, jaw clenching. “And one of those black-eyed bastards taking a little vacation at the time just happened to be the King of Hell. Who now wants my spleen on a stick.”</p><p>“Crowley has red eyes,” Castiel said helpfully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Devil went down to Georgia

**Author's Note:**

> This'll make a lot more sense if you've at least read 'Over the Rainbow' first. :-)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5766205

Sam was getting old. There’d been a time when he could make do on four hours of broken sleep on crappy motel beds or the back seat of the Impala, for days or even weeks. A couple of times he’d even gone months, when Dean wasn’t around to order him to _shut up, lie down and go the fuck to sleep, Sammy_. But now, after taking things easy on memory-foam mattresses, he was pulling one all-nighter and his eyes felt like they’d been rolled in hot sand.

He eyed the guys standing around the map table. Kevin was fiddling with his iPad, bringing up different coloured lights on the table but always cycling back to the scattered red dots that marked demonic presence. Castiel stood next to him, looking as inscrutable as usual, only a slight furrow between his brows giving an indication of his mood. Benny leaned on the table at the far end, frowning down at the patterns displayed. Sam wondered whether any of them would mind if he called a break in proceedings and went to get a coffee. Those three probably wouldn’t. Dean, on the other hand...

  “So, what you’re saying,” Dean said in a deceptively calm voice, arms folded tightly across his chest, “is that any demon who was topside when I finished the Trials did not, in fact, get a one-way express Down Under.”

  “That would appear to be the case,” Castiel replied.

  Dean nodded, jaw clenching. “And one of those black-eyed bastards taking a little vacation at the time just happened to be the King of Hell.”

  “Crowley has red eyes,” Castiel said helpfully.

  “What did he want?” Benny asked, before Dean could explode.

  “Dean’s spleen on a stick,” Sam said, shrugging one shoulder. “World domination. A way to undo the Trials.”

  “Only the first of those is technically achievable,” Castiel said.

  “Thanks, Cas.” Dean glowered at the angel.

  Benny sucked at his teeth. “You’re saying there’s no way to reopen the gates to Hell?”

  “Do not think of them as physical gates. They are closer to portals between planes.”

  “Like wormholes,” Kevin said, not looking up from the screen.

  Cas frowned. “Demons do not eat and excrete the void between planes in order to travel through it.”

  “Not actual worms, Cas,” Sam said with weary patience.

  “Ah.” Cas blinked at Kevin and got back on track. “The Trials broke those inter-planar connections. They no longer exist.”

  “Why are we even talking about this?” Dean demanded. “Since when does Crowley call the shots? Especially now he’s benched.”

  Benny straightened up. “I assume he threatened something.”

  “Payback.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “He didn’t specify what.”

  “Crowley may be stranded but he should not be underestimated.”

  “Until we know what he’s up to there’s not a huge amount we can do,” Sam said.

  “Sure there is,” Benny drawled. He waved a lazy hand over the spread of red dots. “Seems like there’s plenty of mopping up to be getting on with.”

  “Will exorcisms even work now?” Kevin said, squinting.

  “Only one way to find out.” Dean grinned, a familiar light in his eye.

The holiday was over, then. Or honeymoon, as Sam’s treacherous brain kept labelling it. He’d known it was coming. There was only so long Dean could be persuaded to take it easy. Sam was privately surprised he’d managed to keep his brother off the road until now. But the fact remained that Dean wasn’t fully recovered from the Trials. Quite a long way from fully recovered, actually. He could shoot in a straight line again but he tired much faster than he used to and motel beds weren’t going to help that.

Still, Sam was a big believer in picking his battles.

  “There’s a bunch just outside of Topeka,” he said, pointing to the map. That was a day trip. Start close to home and slowly work out. Buy Dean a bit more recovery time.

  Benny met his gaze steadily, with a slight nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Awesome. Let’s saddle up.”

  “In the morning,” Sam said firmly. “We already killed the Wicked Witch of the West tonight, Dean. I want to go to bed.” He wrapped his fingers unobtrusively around Dean’s wrist, thumb brushing across the pulse-point, and watched the facial gymnastics as Dean’s expression went from belligerent to enlightened.

  “Oh. Yeah. Uh… In the morning.”

  Benny snorted. “Reckon I’ll stay up here and read, then.”

  “Read. Yes.” Cas suddenly looked thoughtful. “There is… I should be back in a few hours.” He vanished in a whup-whuff of invisible wings.

  “Been a while since he did that,” Dean said, blinking. “I’d forgotten how fucking irritating it is. Reminds me, though, Sammy, he wanted to borrow something to read. Like, a story.”

  Sam shrugged. “I’ll leave my copy of _End of the Affair_ out.”

  “Shoulda known you’d read chick lit.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and Sam thumped him on the shoulder.

  “Graham Greene, you philistine. It’s a classic.”

  “You keep telling yourself that. Hey, Kevin, you going to bed any time soon? Early start tomorrow.”

Kevin didn’t react, head bent over the iPad. The lights flicked red, blue, purple, yellow, red. Always back to red. Dean stepped round the table and reached for his elbow. He flinched away, still not looking up. Dean froze, swallowed hard, gave a short nod and retreated.

  “Okay, man. Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I am. I should have thrown the possession off sooner, should have fought harder…”

  “Dean.” Sam wrapped a hand around the back of his brother’s neck, chest tight. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Dean scowled, jaw thrust forward. “Sure look like my handprints around his neck.”

Kevin gave an emphatic nod and Sam nearly lost his temper. Okay, so the kid had nearly died. So what? The important thing was that he hadn’t, and the really important thing was that Dean hadn’t been in the driving seat at the time. Hell, Dean was just as much a victim and Kevin had no right, none, to feed his brother’s already crippling guilt complex. Honestly? Given Kevin’s attitude lately, it was a wonder Dean hadn’t tried strangling him before now. He was a guest in their home and, between his sulks and the burgeoning sleep deprivation, Sam had had about enough. He tugged Dean out of the line of fire and drew in a deep breath.

  “Kev, wanna show me how this works?” Benny drawled, nodding at the iPad. “Gotta catch up with the 21st century somehow.” The vampire flicked a sharp glance at Sam. “Night, fellas.”

  “Night,” Dean said with forced lightness, and pulled Sam after him.

   Sam managed to keep a lid on it until they reached their room. “I’ve had it up to here with him,” he snarled, kicking his shoes off with unnecessary force.

  Dean leaned against the dresser, arms crossed and lips quirking. “Yeah, I got that. Lucky Benny played peacekeeper or we’d be peeling bits of him off of the ceiling.”

  “He’s out of line, Dean.”

  “Not really.” Dean tapped briefly at the base of his throat.

  “Bullshit. You blame me for punching you when Lucifer was riding me?”

  “It ain’t the same, dude.”

  “It’s exactly the same!”

  “I chose to be there. I knew what I was walking into.”

  “This isn’t a goddamn prison.” Sam yanked his shirts viciously over his head, hearing a seam tear. “If he thinks he can last more than a day out there on his own, he’s welcome to try. I’m done with his attitude, always trying to rip into you.”

  “I think I can handle some glares from a twenty-year-old.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.”

  Dean’s mouth quirked again. “This ain’t the schoolyard, Sammy. You don’t have to defend my honour.”

  “It’s not about that.”

  “Really?”

  Sam made an effort to calm his breathing and lower his voice. “As long as he blames you, you’ll never stop blaming yourself.”

  Dean straightened up, smile vanishing. “Sam…”

  “It’s not your fault.” Sam moved easily into his brother’s personal space and cupped both hands around Dean’s jaw. The five o’clock shadow rasped against his palms, sending little shivers through the skin. “None of this is your fault.”

  Dean’s breathing picked up a little and his eyelids flickered. He slid his hands onto Sam’s hips, strong fingers radiating heat into the skin. “Well… I’m okay with taking responsibility for some of it.”

  “I’m serious,” Sam insisted, brushing a feather-light kiss across his lips. “Kevin, demons still out there, Crowley-”

  “Dude!” Dean pulled back with a faintly disgusted look. “Could you not bring up Crowley when I’m about to kiss you?”

  Sam drank in his brother’s wide-pupiled eyes, the high planes of his face that were all Sam’s to touch, the long line of his body relaxed and open, and desire spiked through him. “Better shut me up then,” he murmured.

Dean’s grip tightened and Sam was yanked forward, groin to groin, tight and demanding. Dean’s mouth was hot and hungry, claiming entry as his right, tongue stroking sensually over Sam’s. There was an urgency to it that sent sparking prickles of need down Sam’s spine. Dean usually preferred his sex slow and gentle. He didn’t take like this; didn’t push or bruise. Didn’t plant his hands firmly on Sam’s chest and shove him backwards until the edge of the bed took out his legs and he fell heavily across the mattress. Didn’t yank roughly at Sam’s pants until they were thrown across the room, leaving him sprawled and exposed.

  Sam pushed himself up onto one elbow. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Dean stood between his knees, still fully clothed, surveying him with a predatorial expression. “You’ve been in charge since I died. It’s been nice. Hell, it’s been awesome. But I’m off the bench now.” A slow, sharp smile as those green eyes travelled the length of his body. “And you like it.”

It was Dean’s voice, more than his words, which had the blood surging to Sam’s cock. That confident purr, alpha vibrations calling to his hindbrain, which Sam was conditioned to follow. He knew, without knowing how, that this wouldn’t happen often. Dean needed to be cared for, needed times when he didn’t have to be in control, and the only place he let that happen was under Sam’s hands. But sometimes, when the adrenalin and anticipation of a hunt was high, he might give in to an equally rare impulse: he might take for himself. Sam was more than willing to let his brother slake that fiercely-checked hunger on his body.

He stretched lazily, arching his spine. One foot rubbed up Dean’s shin before he planted it on the mattress and let his knee fall open suggestively. His right arm stretched up to grip the far edge of the bed. Then he met Dean’s eyes, letting him see Sam’s own want, the tacit permission.

Dean gave a bass growl and tore off his clothes without taking his gaze from Sam. Then he crawled onto the bed, lithe and dangerous as a panther, brushing skin against heated skin, until he was kneeling between Sam’s thighs. Sam’s chest tightened. Every inch of him tingled with anticipation, craving Dean’s touch. His cock pulsed upwards, wet and wanting, straining towards the body arched over him. Dean licked his lips slowly and raised a hand, trailing a single fingertip lightly down from Sam’s throat. Tingles intensified in its wake and built a bow wave in his groin. When the finger stroked across his pelvis to the base of his cock, Sam groaned at the sharp pleasure of contracting muscles. He waited eagerly, urgently, for the pressure of Dean’s hand around him but it didn’t come. Dean ducked his head, eyes glinting before they were obscured, and flicked his tongue into the hollow of Sam’s clavicle. Teeth grazed the edges, making Sam shiver, and then Dean was shifting as he licked his way down Sam’s chest, bit gently at his belly button, and trailed a deliciously cool path across his groin.

Then Sam’s body jolted with hot, delirious sensation as Dean’s tongue swiped across his leaking cock once, twice, Sam stopped counting. There were tight curls and quick flicks, breath-stealing lips and adrenalin-shooting teeth. The pressure built with every pulse beat, Dean’s hand holding his hips down as he writhed under the sure touch of his brother’s mouth. Finally, _finally_ , fingers wrapped around around him, a hot choking wonderful pressure. Hand and mouth descended, forcing the air out of Sam’s lungs on a guttural moan. Dean’s tongue swept around and over the head of his cock, and he arched again as static crawled up his vertebrae.

Dean used the movement to slide his other hand down, running a finger from Sam’s balls along the crack to massage his hole. A hunger, a tense emptiness, blossomed inside him. He planted both feet firmly on the bed and tilted his hips up, mutely begging. Dean pulled off his cock, the loss of that blissful heat drawing a groan from Sam, and leaned up to kiss him.

  “Gimme a sec.”

Then he was gone, leaving Sam bereft and open, mind reeling back to rational thought. He raised his head blearily and watched as Dean scrambled for the dresser drawer, where they kept the lube, and snagged both pillows on the way back.

  “Up.”

Sam pushed, raising his lower body off the bed, and Dean shoved the pillows into place. Then he sat back on his heels and let his eyes travel up Sam’s flushed body.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he growled softly. “Just wanna…” He broke off, shaking his head.

  “What?” No answer. Sam licked his lips and let his voice drop. “You can do anything, Dean. Whatever you want.” Dean clenched a fist on his thigh and didn’t meet Sam’s gaze. The empty place inside him throbbed and he breathed in through his nose. “Bite me.”

  That got Dean’s attention, eyes hooded and hungry. “What?”

  “Bite me. I don’t mind a bit of pain. Mark me up. I’m all yours.”

  The fist tightened to white knuckles. “Sammy…” Dean whispered hoarsely.

  “I mean it.” He pushed up onto both elbows. “Bite. Me.”

Dean pounced forwards, grabbing him by the back of his neck and pulling him into a punishing kiss, all teeth and tongue, hot and plundering. Sam surged to meet him, pushing back, holding him close. There was a slick point of pressure at his entrance as Dean’s lubed finger slid into him, thrusting deep. A brilliant shard of pleasure ricocheted through him, and a sharp counterpoint of pain stabbed into his shoulder as Dean bit hard, not quite breaking skin. He gasped, feeling stretched and ablaze between the two, and Dean quickly pulled back.

  “Sammy? You okay?”

  “Yeah… fine… more…”

  “You sure?”

  He sank his fingers into Dean’s hair and pulled his brother’s head back to his shoulder. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Dean dragged his tongue firmly over the bite mark and set his teeth lightly against the inner curve of Sam’s shoulder. Then he pushed a second finger deep, flexing against Sam’s walls. A momentary discomfort was powerfully overridden as he brushed the prostate again. Sam cried out at the whispered promise of bliss, and a red-edged echo stabbed into his shoulder. His body shuddered with conflicting signals, pleasure and pain churning together in his chest, stomach, groin, a whirlpool of sensation that stole his breath and left him shaking. There was fire and lightning and an aching emptiness that begged for pressure. He wanted more of something, anything, everything Dean would give him, so long as it was given now.

Dean’s hands were under his knees, pushing up and back, folding him over. The face that hovered above him was alight and dark, eyes and lips gleaming with feral hunger. Something pressed at his entrance, wet and burning, and Sam closed his eyes in thankfulness. Then he spread his cheeks and threw his head back, tendons straining, as Dean’s cock breached him in one long, slow stroke that filled him up, thrusting deep, all the way to his core.

  “So hot and tight for me, Sammy,” Dean purred, leaning forwards. “Fuck, I love seeing you like this, spread out and begging for me, with my mark on your skin.”

  “Stop… stop talking… and fuck me.”

  Dean bared his teeth, muscles clenching. “Gotta wait for you to be ready.”

Sam snarled, tossing his head, and squeezed. Dean’s hips jolted forward and he swore raggedly. Sam pushed back, ignoring the burn. No, not ignoring, incorporating. The burn and the bite and the pressure, and the lightning bolt as Dean pulled back and scraped over his prostate, and the throbbing heat from his own streaming cock, spread him thin between them. It was too much, he couldn’t process them individually, and they smashed together into a blanket of sensation that spiked and surged as Dean plunged into him again, and again, and again. They built, making every inch of skin tingle then smoulder then blaze, and he cried out as he was overwhelmed.

Dean leaned heavily onto his upper arms, pinning him against the mattress, and fucked him with a pure hunger that translated itself into another point of pressure in Sam’s chest. He was desired, wanted, needed, by this beloved, beautiful man who would give him everything he asked for and sometimes, when he was very lucky, would hold him down and take, and take, and take. He was filled up, spilling colour and air with every thrusting impalement, vision strobing as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Dean shifted backwards, pulling Sam onto his lap. He wrapped one hand around Sam’s pulsing cock, gripped a hip with the other, and sank deep. Light tore through Sam’s nerves, firing every muscle, and he arched and roared as the pressure tumbled over into rapture, flooding warmly out across his stomach as he came. Dean groaned as everything contracted, thrust fiercely once more, and shuddered violently as he climaxed. He bowed over their hips, head hanging and breathing rough, as the tide slowly went out. Then he pulled free with a sigh and rolled over onto the bed.

   A feeling of warm lassitude crept over Sam. He flopped one hand onto his brother’s heaving chest and smiled sleepily. “My shoulder hurts.”

  “Dude, you literally asked for it.”

  “And my ass is sore.”

  Dean gave a low, breathless chuckle and covered Sam’s hand with his own. “Now that? Is totally my fault.”


	2. Willing to make a deal

Dean pulled the Impala up onto the verge and killed the engine. Sam leaned across him and peered through the window at the rutted track leading up to an old farmhouse.

  “This is definitely the place?”

  “Matches the map table’s coordinates,” Dean said, scowling. “Where the fuck is Cas?”

  “I don’t know any more now than I did the first fifty times you asked,” Sam said, irritation with the angel making his tone sharp. Cas knew they were hunting today and had said he’d be back in time. He and Dean had both prayed repeatedly on the drive over from the bunker, with no reply. It felt like a return to the bad old days, when Cas was off doing crazy god-like shit and ignoring them.

  Benny sucked at his teeth. “Looks pretty isolated. I thought demons preferred crowds.”

  “Normally they do. More people to tempt.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe these days they’re more cautious.”

  “No civilians means no awkward explanations. Come on.”

Dean got out of the car and popped the trunk. He slipped Ruby’s knife into the sheath on the back of his belt, handed Benny a shotgun and dug out three flasks of holy water. Sam grabbed his pistol and ammo, feeling the dust of the last few weeks begin to slide off his muscle memory. Hunting demons - plural - with a vampire. He wondered idly what Dad would say if he could see them now. Although… his eyes flicked to the hickey he’d left on Dean’s neck that morning and decided firmly that it was definitely best that Dad couldn’t see anything. Nothing to see here. Nope. Fuck, could the dead watch the living from Heaven?

  “Benny, you go round the back and check the outbuildings,” Dean said, closing the trunk. “Sam and I’ll take the main house.”

  “Sure thing,” Benny said easily. “Meet you in the middle.”

He set off at a lope, swinging wide around the house to come in from the side. Sam followed Dean up the track, keeping his eyes moving. The familiar shiver of adrenalin raised the hairs on the back of his neck, flaring all his senses.

  “Curtains are closed,” he said softly as they neared the house.

  Dean nodded, brows low and fierce. “Ready?”

Sam checked the safety was off and kept an outward watch as Dean produced his lockpicks. The tumblers fell sweetly into line and Dean gave the door a little push. It swung silently open. They exchanged a terse nod and Dean moved into the dim hallway with Sam close on his heels. The air smelled thickly of sulfur. Dean drew his knife.

The door slammed shut behind them. Men and women, all black-eyed and intent, crowded quickly out of the rooms, surrounding them. Sam reached for his flask and flung holy water in an arc. The demons recoiled, hissing viciously as their faces blistered and burned.

  “Benny!” Dean yelled, dropping into a crouch.

  “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…”

  The demon in front of Sam grinned. “Times’ve changed, Winchester.”

  “You changed ‘em,” said another.

Dean lunged, punching the knife into the nearest chest. The demon screamed, golden light fritzing under its skin. Sam shot the one that had grinned at him. It took a step back, grunting, as the bullet hit its neck, but the wound healed almost instantly.

  “...omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio…”

  “If I concentrate really hard, it almost tickles,” a demon said with laughter in its voice.

Then there were hands around Sam’s wrists, his arms, his neck. He heard Dean grunt in pain, and threw all his weight and experience against the restraints. A vice-like grip closed around his ankles and yanked. He hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of him. Flashes of limbs moving. Someone kicked his ribs hard. There was a scream as Dean stabbed another demon. A fist crashed into his temple. A snapshot of a frying pan approaching at speed.

   _Oh, fu-_

 

* * *

He came round, head pounding and mouth dry, with no idea how long he’d been out. He was lying on cold stone. The air was musty and unmoving. At first he wasn’t sure whether he’d opened his eyes. Then, for a heart-thumping moment, he wasn’t sure if they were working. As the cobwebs finally cleared, he realised with a mixture of relief and trepidation that he was just in the dark.

  “Dean?” Even speaking made his head hurt worse, sending lightless pulses across his vision. He gasped, wincing. Had there been a response? Had he missed it? “Dean!”

Silence. He felt around, first with his hands and then, slowly and with gritted teeth, on his feet. The room was small, no more than three square metres, with brick walls, a heavy wooden door, no furniture, and no Dean.

He sat down, back against the wall, and waited for the jagged stabbing in his head to stop. Concussion, again. His favourite. Some heavy bruising to his ribs, too, but that seemed to be it. He’d got off lightly. Very lightly. In fact, why wasn’t he dead? There’d been enough demons to easily have killed him. There’d been enough demons to…

Sam tipped his head back with a groan. He was so _stupid_. They’d walked straight into a trap. The bunker’s location was warded, sure, but anyone paying attention to their response times could easily narrow it down to a fairly small area. So why would demons risk setting up so close?

To catch a Winchester. Obviously.

A wave of fear, hot-cold and nauseous, swept through him and it took him a moment to realise it wasn’t his. Dean was alive, awake, and afraid. Sam could feel him, a tension at the back of his throat. He was near, Sam was sure of it. Something was scaring him, and that scared the hell out of Sam. Dean would be able to feel that Sam was okay, in the same way Sam could feel him, and general worry wouldn’t churn his gut like this. Sam had seen his brother face down a charging werewolf unfazed so what the fuck could be scaring him so bad?

  Sam struggled back to his feet and threw himself at the door with pounding fists. “Dean! DEAN!”

An unseen force punched bodily into him, flinging him back across the room. He slammed into the wall with a cry of pain, head bursting into fresh waves of agony, and slid into a crumpled heap. The door creaked open. Through the migraine-flashes of his vision, Sam could make out a man’s silhouette, dimly backlit, hands thrust into trouser pockets.

  “We do ask you to respect your neighbours by keeping noise to a minimum,” came a familiar drawl.

  “Crowley,” Sam growled, panting.

  “Hello, Moose. How’s things? Learned any new tricks since you cut off my kingdom? I must say, I didn’t expect it to be so easy to catch you. Got a little rusty, have you? Resting on your laurels?”

  Sam pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s Dean?”

  “He's having a lie-down upstairs. He’s looking good for someone who completed the Trials. Distressingly alive, in fact.” Crowley paused, head tilting to one side. “Been playing fast and loose with the rules, Sam?”

  “How d’you know the Trials would have killed him?” Sam said roughly. “No one’s ever done them before.”

  Crowley snorted. “Please. I know something about witchcraft and the price of spells. Dear old Dean should either be dead or soulless. Yet, somehow, he’s neither. I feel robbed of my consolation prize.”

  Sam kept silent. If he was very lucky, Crowley wouldn’t work it out. Unconditional love was an alien concept to a demon. If he did put two and two together, Sam knew Crowley would rub his tortuous hands with glee and then things would go downhill seriously fast.

  “Still,” the demon drawled, “silver linings, and all that. If he was dead, I wouldn’t be able to offer to give him back.”

  “What?”

  “You have something I want, Moose. Something I want more than the flayed skin and still-beating heart of the putrid little cockweasel who locked me out of my own house. Not much more, mind, but enough. So. Because I'm a generous and magnanimous king, I’m prepared to set Dean free.”

  “In return for me, I suppose,” Sam said, throat working. He was healthier than Dean, and didn’t have quite so much demonic fury aimed at him. He could survive longer. Long enough for Cas and Benny to rescue him. It wouldn’t be pleasant - bile burned in his throat and he choked it down - but it was possible.

  Crowley chuckled, and Sam’s skin prickled cold. “Now, why would I make it that easy? You boys are so very eager to throw yourselves on your swords for each other. It’s hardly even a sacrifice at this point. Besides, what possible use could I have for you? Other than a few hours’ entertainment and a new doormat. And, in case you're forgetting,” Crowley gestured at the narrow, empty room, "I already have you."

  Sam swallowed. “What, then?”

  “I want Kevin.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, I rather thought you’d say that.” Crowley scratched the tip of his nose. “In addition to the aforementioned generosity and magnanimity, I’m also remarkably forbearing. Tomorrow you’ll have one final chance to take me up on my offer. If you change your mind before then, just shout.” He clicked his fingers and the door slammed shut, leaving Sam sweating in the dark.

There was a part of him, small and acidic and hateful, that was actually considering Crowley’s offer. Kevin had been nothing but a grumpy, snide pain in the ass lately, and Dean was… well, Dean. Sam would do anything to save him. But there was a line. Not one drawn by him - he was incapable of drawing lines and limits when it came to Dean - but by the knowledge of Dean’s reaction. If Sam handed Kevin over to free his brother, Dean would never look at him the same way again. The thought alone was enough to burn.

Wait… that burning in his chest, that wasn’t just him. Adrenalin spiked through him, shortening his breath and making his limbs shake. Oh god, that was Dean. Something was happening, something was making him panic. Sam dug his fingers into the wall, fighting for control. Then an echo of agony stabbed into his stomach, tearing, burning, and he fell to his knees with a scream. Another whip-line of pain slammed across his chest and he flinched violently backwards.

   _The flayed skin and still-beating heart_ , Crowley said.

Dean was being tortured. And Sam had to endure the knowledge of his pain for a day, after which he’d be dead. Or give up Kevin.


	3. I think I'm better than you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of assumes you've already read 'Hunters Anonymous'. :-)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5738488

It took all of ten minutes to make the decision, and nine of those were spent swearing at Crowley. Sam told himself he was doing this for Dean but he knew, deep down under the rock of his conscience, that wasn’t entirely true. God help him, he wanted this. Had been wanting it for long enough now that it barely registered anymore. It was part of his morning thought process on the rise to consciousness:

  Do I know my name? Check.

  Do I know where I am? Check.

  Do I know where Dean is? Check.

  Do I still crave demon blood? Check.

Whilst he’d thought there were no demons left, it had been easier to handle. But now he knew there were, and they were right outside, and torturing his brother. It was an obvious solution, really.

  He stripped off his outer shirt and went over to the door. “Hey! Open up, I want to give a message for Crowley.”

  The sound of footsteps and an unpleasant laugh. “That was quick. You lose your nerve, Winchester?” The door swung open, revealing the outline of a stocky man. The demon peered into the darkness. “Well? What’s the message?”

Sam launched himself up from a crouch, wrapping his shirt over the demon’s head and using the sleeves to yank it off balance. It stumbled forward a step, yelling. Sam grabbed it by the neck and used the momentum to ram it head-first into the wall with a sickening crunch. It staggered and went down on one knee. He got behind it, locking its arms in a half-nelson, and tugged the shirt free. The demon snarled up at him, wriggling.

  “Never mind,” Sam said, a little breathlessly. “I’ll tell him myself.”

His teeth sank into the demon’s neck, all his considerable strength focused on that point. Blood, copper-sweet and sulfur-sour, trickled across his tongue and his hunger flared out of control. He bit harder, relishing the heat of it as it burned down his throat and warmed his stomach. Heat spread out like a wildfire to his limbs, until he was dizzy and shaking. Pins and needles started to dance across his skin. The bruises on his ribs stopped hurting. The pain in his head, the concussion and worry and endless thinking, were all swept away by a flood of delicious rage.

They dared put him in a cell? They dared set blade to his brother’s skin? They would learn their mistake. The anticipation of teaching them was so sweet, he had to lift his mouth to air for a moment and breathe. The demon had stilled under his hands, shouts becoming whimpers that faded away. Still he suckled, until there was nothing left and his stomach felt bloated with liquid. One demon’s worth wouldn’t be enough to take on Crowley, though. Not when he was so out of shape.

He let the body drop and stepped out into a narrow hallway. There were a couple more doors on the same side as his, most of them standing open, with a fire exit at the far end. He glanced into the adjacent room. It held stacked feed bins, some farming implements, and an old pair of wading boots. This must be one of the outbuildings. The next room was the same, and the one beyond was full of worn-looking saddles and bridles. The final door was closed, a ward painted in blood on the door. Sam exploded it open with a click of his fingers. There was a moment’s pause whilst his eyes adapted to the gloom.

A snarling figure hurtled out. He caught a shoulder in his stomach and fell backwards with a yell, slamming into the stone floor. A strong hand wrapped around his throat… and immediately withdrew. Benny straightened up, raising an eyebrow.

  “Brother, am I glad to see you.”

  “Likewise.” Sam accepted his hand up. “What happened?”

  “Bunch of demons got the jump on me. With a net.” Benny looked disgusted with himself. “They threw me in here to cool off. Next thing I know, the door disintegrates. Which, how exactly did you swing that, anyhow?”

  “Someone will have heard. You ready for company?”

  Benny grinned, showing his fangs. “Bring it on.”

On cue, there was a flurry of footsteps and the fire exit swung open, flooding the hallway with daylight. Five demons crowded through the door and pulled up abruptly at the sight of both their prisoners wandering loose. Benny bunched his muscles and threw himself at the nearest. He was met with wild yells and surprised fists. Three of the demons surrounded him whilst the other two sidled past towards Sam. He stood his ground, letting them come to him. The power curled in his muscles, warm and fizzing. He felt good - relaxed and confident, in a way that his normal, weaker self never did. Angry, of course, but he was always angry and usually all it ever did was give him a headache. This anger was pure, powerful, a weapon that rushed out of him and left intense satisfaction in its wake.

The demons hesitated and he realised he was smiling. Never mind, they were close enough. He flicked a hand and one of them slammed sideways to be pinned against the wall.

  “Stay,” he told it, then looked back at the other who was staring at him with an open mouth. “You. Gormless. Come.”

The demon came, fighting every step, but Sam’s unused mental muscles were remembering fast. It was like riding a bike, really. He just needed a good sense of balance and to trust his body. Gormless shivered to a frozen halt in front of him, making muted objections in its throat. Sam drew the knife from its belt and tested the edge.

  “This is blunt,” he said with gentle reproof. “You should take better care of your weapons.” He set it carefully against Gormless’ carotid artery. The black eyes widened and then bled away into pale blue irises. “Nice try, but I can smell the sulfur.”

He leaned into Gormless’ neck and inhaled deeply. Then he pressed the knife in and a thin river of red ran down to stain the demon’s shirt. Sam licked it up and sealed the wound with his mouth. The sweet-sourness of it was a little sickening at first, so soon after his first drink, but that slight gagging sensation quickly vanished beneath the rush of power. He could feel himself waking up, getting sharper and brighter with every mouthful. It was like the first coffee of the morning, if the coffee was laced with crack.

The sounds of fighting disrupted his moment of pleasure. Without lifting his head, he looked over Gormless’ shoulder. Benny was a furious whirlwind of teeth and fists and feet, but his three opponents had him cornered. The vampire could clearly use some assistance. Sam straightened up, wiping his mouth clean.

  “You finished?” He asked Gormless. The demon’s eyes were rolled back to whites. When Sam released his grip in its shirt, it slumped bonelessly to the floor. He nodded. “You’re finished.”  

He stepped over the body and spread his hand. The three demons still fighting arched and shuddered as he drove them out of their meatsuits in a choking, sparking cloud of black. It sank down, burning indelibly into the stone floor, and the three bodies collapsed.

  “What in the hell…?” Benny said softly, looking from them to Sam. His body remained tensed for battle.

  Sam shrugged. “You’re welcome. Now,” he said, turning to the demon still pinned to the wall. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you pick how you die.”

  “Fuck you,” it spat, trembling as it fought against Sam’s binding.

  “You tried. My turn.”

  “Sam.” Benny came warily towards him, staying just out of reach. “What’s going on?”

  “Dean’s being tortured,” he said levelly, eyes fixed on the demon. “Exorcisms don’t work and we don’t have Ruby’s knife. I’m using the tools available.” Benny took a deep breath but didn’t press the point. Sam tightened his grip on the demon. “Where is he?”

  “I can smell him on you,” it sneered. “Brother-fucker…” It choked off as Sam narrowed his eyes.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Tell me where Crowley’s holding him.”

  “Main house,” it gasped, eyes bulging. “Dining room.”

  “Why does Crowley want Kevin?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Try again.”

  “I don’t know!”

  Sam clicked his fingers and the demon screamed as its left femur snapped into a right-angle. “Last chance.”

  “Tablet! He wants the prophet to translate the angel tablet!”

  Sam nodded, putting that thought aside for later. “Okay. You want quick and painful, or slow and easy?”

  “Please,” it gasped. “Please!”

  “It’s your choice,” he said reasonably. “I’m not going to let you go.”

  “I never touched you!”

  Anger scorched across Sam’s brain. He pressed in close, his voice dropping to a growl. “I can feel Dean’s pain right now. He’s screaming. You did that. All of you.”

The demon snivelled and Sam abruptly ran out of patience. He stabbed it in the neck and drank it down, worrying the wound with his teeth. It cried out once, moaned once, and finally went quiet. Sam swallowed mouthful after mouthful. He didn’t feel sick or bloated any more. His tolerance was swiftly increasing to its old levels, back when one demon a day hardly touched the sides. He might have to piss in the near future, though. Drinking this much had consequences.

  He reached the point where he had to suck hard for a drop and stopped, running his tongue over viscous-coated teeth. “What?” He said, catching sight of Benny’s shuttered expression. “You thought you had the monopoly on blood?”

  “This is a dangerous vintage, Sam.”

  “Crowley didn’t leave me many options.”

  “And getting high seemed like the best one?”

  Sam pushed past him with a scowl. “Are you going to help me save Dean or bitch about my methods?”

  “I can’t do both?” Benny fell in behind him.

The fire exit opened onto the farmyard. Three single-storey rows of buildings formed a square with the main house. There were a handful of chickens wandering loose but no other signs of life. Sam could feel, more than see, the sigils marked on every available surface, warding the place against scrying and angels. Even if Cas was now paying attention, he’d never hear their prayers or be able to find them.

The house’s backdoor was standing open. Sam walked confidently through it and came face to face with a demon wearing a big farmhand in filthy dungarees. Before it could say anything, Sam hauled it out of its host and burned it into the ground. The body slid down the wall.

   _Seven_. “Check him for a pulse and get him outside,” Sam told Benny, and pushed on.

There was a big kitchen, all stone flags and wooden surfaces, on the left. The table was still laid with a partially-eaten meal. The demons must have caught the farm occupants during dinner. One demon was still in there, testing the contents of the spice rack with its tongue. Sam dropped it where it stood.

   _Eight_.

The door opposite led to a well-stocked pantry, currently unoccupied. He padded deeper into the house, past the stairs. Two rooms led off the entrance hall, both with closed doors. One was sigiled, and silent. The other contained muted conversation from at least three voices. Sam cocked his head, considering. Destroying that sigil was going to make a noise, and then he’d have to deal with both rooms at once. He glanced back at Benny and reached for the door on the right.

The conversation stopped abruptly as he walked into a lounge stuffed with worn and well-loved furniture. Four demons were draped acros the sofa and chairs, but they scrambled upright as he closed the door behind Benny.

  “Don’t let anyone in,” he told the vampire, then turned to face the room.

He could push them all out at once. He’d done it before, when facing down Famine. But part of him wanted to feel his fist smashing into their faces, wanted to see the dawning panic and fear in their black eyes.Fury scorched through his arms and chest, muscles shaking with restraint. Dean was hurting, he could still feel it dimly in the back of his mind, and it was their fault.

Setting his jaw, he hauled the anger back. A fight would take time. Dean would spend that time in agony. Demons were far less important. Clenching his fists tight, he squeezed the blackened life out of them. Their meatsuits collapsed onto the sofas and Benny circled him to lay a finger against all four necks. He shook his head.

   _Twelve_.

Sam went back out into the entrance hall and eyed the sigils on the door opposite. An extra layer of concealment from angels, plus some heavy-duty silencing. A pulse thudded in the back of his throat. Dean was close, so close, and sinking under a blanket of pain.

Sam clenched his fists. The door disintegrated.

The room smelled of blood and urine. Dean was strapped to a heavy wooden dining table, face ashen and eyes closed. Blood had been splashed liberally across the floor and walls. His chest was a patchwork of crimson shades. Blood dripped from his limp hands, stripped of fingernails. His feet were swollen and distorted. His tongue lay on a fine china plate on the sideboard.

The demon bending over his intestines, implements buried deep, had time to look briefly surprised before it exploded.

   _Thirteen_.

Crowley, standing at the far end of the room by Dean’s head, held up a hand. Sam felt the pressure rocket as his wrath met the King of Hell’s power. He took a step forward, and another, and another, pushing through treacle.

  “That’s enough,” Crowley said sharply, and Sam jerked as if he’d been slapped.

  “Benny,” he panted. “Get him out.”

  “Benny, don’t.”

  Sam broke into a sweat. He could feel a trickle creeping from his left nostril. He took one more step forward, bringing him level with Dean’s feet. “Now.”

Benny grunted softly and pushed into the relative calm of his shadow. In his peripheral vision, Sam could see him undoing the straps that held Dean’s legs. He tried to pull himself further up the table, to reach the chest and arm straps. Crowley raised an eyebrow and Sam knew he was about to blast the vampire. He was already taking as much strain as he could, muscles creaking and head pounding with the pressure. If the demon brought more to bear, Sam wasn’t sure he could stop it.

He bit down hard on his inner cheek and set Crowley’s coat on fire.  

  “Bloody hell!”

Crowley flapped at his smoking clothes and the pressure eased enough that Sam stumbled forwards. Benny quickly cut Dean free and hauled him off the table, no time to be careful of his wounds.

  “Go,” Sam urged, sparing him a glance. “I’ll cover you.”

Benny gave him a nod and ran for the front door. Crowley straightened up with a thunderous expression and Sam moved sideways to block his view, rolling his shoulders loose.

  “Been eating your Wheaties, I see,” Crowley snapped. “I thought you were on the wagon.”

  “You knew,” Sam said, unadulterated rage rising again, free from distractions now Dean was out of danger. “You knew we were soul-bonded.”

  “Of course I bloody knew!” Crowley spread his hands. “I deal in souls, you idiot. I can spot a two-for-one deal a mile off.”

  “You wanted me to feel him being tortured, so I’d agree to hand over Kevin.”

  “Give the moose a prize.”

  “Big mistake,” Sam said softly, narrowing his eyes.

  Crowley snorted. “I underestimated your level of crazy, I grant you. But it’s been years since you entered this ring. Don’t get cocky with me, boy.”

  Sam smiled. “You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. You’re just a jumped-up salesman. Azazel gave me the power to be a king.”

He snapped his fingers and the room roared into flames. They danced up the curtains, spilled over the table, blossomed across the ceiling. The heat was blistering and the smoke made Sam’s eyes stream, but he advanced slowly. Crowley’s eyes widened. He waved a hand at the flames and they dipped briefly, but didn’t die.

  “Your hell was made of paperwork, Crowley,” Sam called above the roaring. “The fire is mine.”

It was true. He’d been born from it, at six months old; he’d sent countless monsters to their endless rest with it. It was in his veins and his temper, and it knew him. He would burn this room drenched in his brother’s blood, and the house it belonged to, and the demon it hid. Burn it down to the ground and salt the ashes. Crowley couldn’t stop him, nothing could, because nothing blazed as bright as he did right now, so full of fury and pain and victory. Power hummed through him, bright-edged and eager, and Crowley took a step back as he advanced. Oh, but it felt sweet, seeing that.

  “You know you’re corrupting Dean at the same time, when you do this?” Crowley said, eyes darting from side to side. “The whole soul-bonding thing cuts both ways.”

   _Dean…_

Sam faltered for a split second. Crowley snarled and swept both arms around into a huge clap. The shockwave blasted through the room, guttering the fires and knocking Sam flat. He struggled up onto one elbow and then Crowley was there, one knee heavy on his chest and a hand around his throat.

  “You pathetic little arsewipe,” the demon growled, leaning close. “By the time I’m done, you’ll look back on your time in the Cage as a pleasant vacation.”

The edge of Crowley's jacket knocked against Sam’s arm, unexpectedly hard and weighty. He slid his hand inside and closed it around smooth-edged stone. His fingers felt carved indentations. The angel tablet. A cool clarity slid into the furnace of his thoughts like a knife. He didn’t know if it was a side-effect of touching the Word of God, but it was enough to pierce the fog.

His free hand wrapped around the leg of a burning chair. With a roar, he smashed the chair sideways into Crowley, knocking the demon off him whilst ripping the tablet free. Then he scrambled to his feet and ran.


	4. Boy, let me tell you what

Sam caught up with Benny half-way to the Impala, and took Dean out of his arms. The vampire gave him an appraising look.

  “You’re smoking.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And I’m a polka-dot crayfish.”

  “I said I'm fine,” Sam snapped, looking down. Dean was unconscious but he could still feel a drifting awareness of agony. 

  “How’s he doing?” 

  “Some divine doctoring would be good. We need to get to the car.”

They ran as fast as Sam could manage. It wasn’t Dean’s weight that slowed him down; all his concentration was focused inward. The nebulous presence was beginning to dissipate, thinning at the edges like mist. Sam’s pulse raced. He wouldn’t lose Dean, he couldn’t, not now, not like this. He threw his pleas, commands, threats through the link, whilst his feet moved automatically somewhere in the distance. 

_   Don’t you dare die, don’t you fucking dare, you don’t get to check out on me, we’re Winchesters, Dean please, you can’t, listen to me, listen to my voice, come on, man, stay with me, we’ll get you fixed up good as new, just a little further, hang on, you stubborn bastard, hang on a bit longer or I swear to God I will follow you up to Heaven and kick your ass so hard, please, Dean, don’t leave me, I can’t, you can’t go, come back to me you jerk, come back… _

  He stumbled as they reached the car, and laid Dean across the hood. “Cas, here, now.”

  “Hang in there, brother,” Benny murmured, gripping Dean’s shoulder. 

  “CAS!” The soft rustle of wings behind him made Sam’s throat clench with relief. He rounded on the angel furiously. “Where the fuck were you?”

  Castiel narrowed his eyes and stared at Sam. “You have been drinking demons again. What part of ‘abomination’ did you not understand?”

  Sam drew himself up, shaking with rage, but Benny closed a vice-like grip around his elbow. “Heal first, fight later.”

  Castiel’s gaze flicked from Benny to the torn figure on the hood behind him. “Dean.” 

He brushed Sam aside and laid a hand tenderly on Dean’s chest. White light flared and the gaping wound in Dean’s stomach closed. His feet popped grotesquely back into shape and new fingernails blinked into existence. Dean’s eyes flew open with a ragged gasp as colour flooded back into his face. Sam shouldered Castiel out of the way and hauled Dean into a fierce hug. 

  “Gah!” Dean said. “Oxygen, Sam, oxygen.” He wriggled free and slid to the ground, face contorting strangely. “New tongue. Christ, that’s weird.”

  “What happened?” Castiel said.

  “Crowley.” Dean plucked at his ruined tee with a grimace. “Damn. I liked that shirt.”

  Castiel looked back at the house with a stony expression. He vanished, and reappeared a second later. “I cannot get in, but I do not sense his presence.”

  “Probably busted a move when he felt you show up.” Dean glanced sideways at him. “Not that I ain’t grateful for the A&E, Cas, but where the hell were you when we were getting our asses handed to us?”

  The angel looked abruptly uncomfortable. “I was with… a friend.”

  Sam folded his arms and glared at the angel. “Care to elaborate?”

  Castiel’s shoulders hunched. “Metatron.”

  “Okay.” Dean raised his brows. “That’s a conversation that’s gonna take longer than I’m prepared to spend standing around here. Let’s head back.”

He grabbed Sam’s wrist and held him still whilst the other two got into the back seats. Sam took a half step closer but Dean let go as soon as he moved, and wasn’t looking at him. He froze, anxiously waiting until the car doors were safely closed and they had a little privacy.

  “I can feel what you did,” Dean said, gaze fixed on the distant farmhouse. 

  “I had to. Dean, they were torturing you, I could feel it, and exorcisms don’t work any more. I had to get out, I had to save you. This was the only way.”

  “Sam.” Dean finally looked at him and there was a deep well of grief in his green eyes. “I would rather die than have you do this to yourself again. You understand?”

  Sam shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t get to make that call, remember? It isn’t your life to give up.”

  Dean sighed and opened the driver’s door. “This conversation ain’t over.”

Sam climbed in on the far side, trying to bring his thoughts into some kind of order. He was still angry at Cas for the disappearing act, and at Crowley for the torture, and at himself for not spotting the trap. He was angry at Dean for being caught, getting hurt, being upset about the blood. And he was afraid, so very afraid, of what that upset might mean. Would Dean reject him? Call him a freak again and push him away? Sam wrapped one arm across his stomach and curled in on himself. 

A warm hand wrapped around his thigh and squeezed. Sam inhaled sharply, unbearably grateful for the reassuring contact, and glanced across. Dean was busy checking the mirrors as he pulled Baby away from the verge, but he gave Sam’s leg another squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. 

  “Okay,” he said briskly as they hit the highway. “Cas, spill. What were you doing hanging out with Metatron?”

  Sam twisted round to see Castiel look determinedly out of the window. “We began to communicate after you met him during the Demon Trials. He has been living amongst humans for so long. I thought he might be able to offer some advice about certain aspects that I find confusing.” 

  “Dude, why didn’t you just ask us?”

  “Your answers frequently make things even less clear. And…”

  “And what?” Sam prompted.

  Castiel set his jaw. “You laugh at my ignorance.”

  There was an awkward silence. Finally Dean bit his lip and nodded. “I’m sorry, man. I can be a jerk, you know that. Fuck knows how well I’d cope if it was the other way round. Next time it happens, call me on it.”

  Cas nodded, looking mollified. “When Crowley phoned, I thought Metatron should be apprised of the development. He scribed the tablets, after all. I went to ask him if he had any advice on what to expect from the demons, or what to do about them.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us where you were going?” Dean demanded.

  “Because you do not like bringing in outside sources, particularly angelic ones, and I did not feel like having the argument.”

  Benny gave a snort of amusement and Dean shot him a look in the rear-view mirror. “What?” the vampire said, grinning. “He ain’t wrong.”

  “And did he?” Sam said. “Have any advice, I mean.”

  “He said exorcisms will no longer have any effect, as there is nowhere for the demon to be banished to.”

  “Yeah, we got that,” Dean said darkly. “What else?”

  “We need to close the gates of Heaven.”

No one spoke for a moment. The only sound was the rush of the road beneath the Impala’s tires and the occasional muted roar from a passing car. Then Dean deliberately relaxed his death-grip on the wheel.

  “One more time?” he said. 

_ Not again _ , Sam thought desperately.  _ He can’t take another set of Trials, he’s still recovering from the last ones. I’ll have to do these. He’ll have to let me. Benny will make him see reason, I can get Benny on side. _

  “I would’ve thought you’d want Heaven left alone,” Benny said with careful curiosity. 

  “It is not safe to do so. With only three planes attached, the world is being distorted.”

  “Wait, what?” Dean glanced in the rearview mirror with a frown. “Run that by me again.”

  “Everything is carefully balanced,” Castiel said, his tone suggesting he was stating the blindingly obvious. “When the hellgates were closed, that detached one plane from the world. There is no longer an opposing pull to the gates of Heaven.”

  “So, they’re like gravity wells?” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “We were balanced in between them and now we’re not.”

  “That is an acceptable analogy, though factually inaccurate.”

  “You said there were three planes still attached,” Benny said.

  “Yes. Heaven, Faerie and…” Castiel paused. “You do not have a widely accepted name for the other one. I have heard it called R’lyeh. The beings native to that plane rarely come here.”

  “So, to get back in balance, would we have to shut down the gates to all of them?” Dean asked, knuckles whitening on the wheel.

  “Heaven and Hell are opposite and equal forces, as are Faerie and R’lyeh. Closing the gates of Heaven should be sufficient to re-establish equilibrium.”

  “And if we don’t?” Benny said.

  “The world will become unstable.”

  “Which means what?” Dean said. “Earthquakes? More monsters? Another freaking apocalypse? How bad are we talking, here?”

  “In the short term, the effects will be minimal. Possibly some increased angelic activity on earth.”

  “Why?”

  Castiel gave Sam a patient look. “For aeons Heaven has been almost entirely geared towards battling Hell. Now we have won by default, that leaves a lot of my brothers with nothing to do.”

  “What happens when an angel gets bored?” Benny said slowly.

  “Depends on the angel.” Dean jerked his head backwards. “Cas here likes to watch people sleep. Gabriel fucked with people’s heads. Uriel plotted the downfall of Man. Take your pick.”

  “Nothing good, basically,” Sam said with an attempt at a smile. “What about the long term, Cas?”

  “It is difficult to explain.” 

  “Use short words,” Dean said.

  Castiel sighed. “Are you aware of parallel universes?”

  “The theory of the multiverse?” Sam frowned, trying to remember what he’d read. “I thought that had been disproved on the basis of cosmic inflation?”

  Dean gave him a familiar glare that mixed irritation with pride. “ _ Short _ words, guys. We ain’t all geniuses.”

  “It started out as a philosophical point,” Sam explained. “The idea that, if anything could happen, then eventually everything would happen. But the only way for there to be enough time and space for that is if there’s hundreds of almost identical worlds running in parallel.”

  “That’s nuts.”

  Castiel tilted his head a little. “You have been to one yourself.”

  “When we were actors on a TV show,” Sam agreed. “I thought that was just Balthazar’s spell?”

  Dean scowled. “Yeah, that really was nuts.”

  “Balthazar could not have created an alternate reality,” Castiel said. “Only archangels have that level of power. He simply moved you into a parallel one.”

  “What’s this got to do with closing the Pearly Gates?” Benny asked patiently.

  “All parallel universes are stretched between the four planes, kept separate and steady by that balance. Now the planes are unequal, they will start to collapse in on each other.”

  “Which means what?” Dean said. “We’ll start bumping into ourselves? I don’t see a problem with multiple me’s. I’m freaking awesome.”

  “Even the version of you as a demon?” Castiel asked. 

  “Or the one where you said yes to Michael?” Sam put in. “If they start to converge, won’t that screw with the space-time continuum?”

  “I swear, Sammy, you’re just making words up now.”

  “Yes,” Castiel said. “Eventually the pressure of so much time existing in one place will create a black hole.”

  “And that’s bad, I’m assuming,” Dean said.

  “That’s it,” Benny drawled. “Lights out, party over.”

  “Awesome.” Dean thumped the steering wheel. “How many times do we have to save the damn world? Okay, so we close the gates of Heaven. Trials, take two. I’m guessing Metatron knows what they are?”

  “Yes.” Castiel sounded a little nervous and Sam looked at him more closely. 

  “Cas, is that blood on your coat?”

  “Dean is covered in blood,” Castiel said defensively.

  Dean’s eyes narrowed. “That ain’t an answer.”

  “You were gone a long time,” Benny said softly. “Was it all just sat around jawing?”

Castiel turned his head to the window again, looking mulish. 

  “Dammit, Cas!” Dean snapped. “What did you do this time?” 

  The angel made a fist against his knee, his expression turning dark. “I am trying to atone for my sins. I have spilled so much blood. I broke Heaven. You have no idea what it is like up there now. Factions upon factions, all fighting, all betraying each other. My fault.”

  “Cas-”

  “It is my fault, Dean. But Metatron showed me a way to fix it. If Earth is removed from the equation, that changes everything. A ceasefire can be called, and a new order established.”

  “You’ve started the Angel Trials, haven’t you?” Sam said, knowing the answer and afraid of it. He could feel the start of a headache hovering behind his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Sam glanced at Dean, who was staring at the road with compressed lips. “Will it hurt you as much as-”

  “I am not human,” Castiel said quickly. “I do not think it will kill me.”

  “Will it work if you do it?” Benny asked. “Don’t these things need a soul in the home straight?”

  Castiel hesitated. “I am not certain. Metatron only told me what the first Trial was.”

  “And?” Sam said, beginning to feel nauseous. “What was it? Whose blood is that?”

  “The nephilim’s.” Castiel scraped a restless nail over the red-brown specks on his sleeve. “The offspring of an angel and a human. The first Trial was to cut out her heart.” He looked out of the window again. “She was nice. She served me coffee.”

  “Cas,” Dean said, his voice low and rough. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I am the one that caused these problems. I should be the one to fix them.”

  “What if you’re wrong, and they do kill you? Unless you got a soulmate we don’t know about, there ain’t no get-out clause this time round.”

  “It is a risk I am willing to take.”

  Sam cleared his throat, wincing. “You don’t actually have to take the risk. We can look it up.”

  “We checked everything in the Men of Letters library,” Benny said. “There’s nothing there about Trials.”

  “I know. I picked this up off of Crowley earlier.” He tugged the angel tablet out of his pocket and held it up. 

  “Nice work, Sammy.” Dean tossed him a smile that warmed him to the core. Maybe he was almost forgiven for drinking demon blood. “We’re nearly home. Benny, can you make sure Kevin starts work on that right away?”

  “Sure, but why can’t you?” 

  “Sam and I gotta go see a man about a dog.”

  Castiel leaned forwards. “The effects of the demon blood are beginning to wear off.”

Sam looked at him in surprise. The sudden movement caused a spike of pain to shoot through his head, and his stomach dropped. 

  Dean gave a terse nod. “I can feel it starting. Gotta get him locked down. You guys talk to Kevin. If we’re doing this, we ain’t doing it blind.”


	5. Playing it hot

Everything hurt. He was burning, freezing, cut open, his tongue lying on a china plate. The dull red light of distant bonfires faded in and out, glinting off the bars of the Cage, off the chains holding him down, stringing him up, and Lucifer laughed softly in the shadows, on and on, a susurration of sound that crawled up his spine with icy claws.

  “Abomination,” Castiel said, plunging a cruel hand into his patchwork chest.

  “Freak,” Dean said, not touching him at all.

Sweat rolled over his temples, hot on his cold skin. Every limb was weighted down by his aching bones, swollen and limp. His teeth were clenched against the shaking, jaw numb and throbbing from hours of tension. His eyelashes were agony. He thought he might have been screaming; wasn’t certain enough of what was real and what wasn’t to be sure.

There was a cool touch across his forehead, a sweep of something soft. It was such a relief that for long moments he couldn’t process it at all. His hallucinations were never so gentle, but the reality of it was unbelievable. Another wave of burning pin-pricks swept up his body from toe-tip to crown. His throat scraped sandpaper-raw as he breathed - begged - through it. There was a rumbling echo of response, waves crashing in a distant cave. Lucifer laughed and laughed and laughed.

Slowly, so slowly, the waters receded and he became dimly aware of himself. Something tight gripped his wrists and ankles, hard enough to bruise. His clothes were soaked in sweat, cold and clinging. His body was a bone-deep ache but he could at last tell where he ended and the world began.

  “- you, Sammy, I’m here, it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be fine, little brother, just let it go, easy now, I got you, keep breathing for me, that’s it…”

  “Dean?” Sam struggled to speak with a dry and swollen tongue. He dragged in a desert-rough breath.

  Another sweep of delicious coolness across his brow. “I’m here, Sammy, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

Sam forced his eyelids open, fighting the weight of them. The room was dim, lit by a couple of storm lanterns placed below his line of sight. A stone ceiling above him with chains looped from warded rings. He was in the dungeon. Well, it made sense.

With a herculean effort he rolled his head to one side. Dean sat hunched next to him, a basin of water in one hand and a cloth in the other. He looked exhausted.

  Sam tried to smile and quickly abandoned the attempt. “Hey, Florence Nightingale.”

  Dean’s eyes snapped to his, brightening. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

  He took in his brother’s dishevelled hair and dark circles under his eyes. “So… that was fun.”

  Dean huffed a mirthless laugh and hung his head. “Yeah.”

Sam raised his head on a shaky neck. He was lying on an ancient looking metal-frame bed. Chains ran across his ankles and over his stomach. There were cuffs attaching his wrists to the corners, the skin rubbed raw. His scalp felt prickly with sweat and his eyes were crusted at the edges.

  “I need a shower.”

  “You need to stop doing this.” Dean looked up, pale-faced, eyes hooded. “I mean it, Sam. Never again. Promise me.”

  “They were torturing you-”

  “I can take a bit of punishment,” Dean interrupted, putting the bowl on the floor with a thump.

  “And you think I can’t?”

  “This is different. This is…” He dragged a hand across his face. “It ain’t just your body, man.”  

   _You’re corrupting Dean at the same time_ , Crowley had said. Sam swallowed. “Could you feel that? The...”

  “The come down?” Dean gave a brusque nod. “I know you’re jonesing for it, I can feel the craving now I know what it is, but you gotta ignore it.”

  “What about the demons? How else do we get rid of them now? Especially since Ruby’s knife is probably in Crowley’s pocket now.”

  “We’ll figure something out.” Dean straightened up in his chair. “I’ll make you a deal, okay? You quit drinking, I quit drinking. Nothing stronger than beer, from here on. I’ll ride it out with you, cold turkey, but you gotta promise me.”

  Sam tugged gently at his cuffs, forcing a strained smile. “You’re going to keep me tied up until I agree, aren’t you?”

  “If I have to.”

Sam could see the determination, the fear, behind his brother’s set jaw, and felt too tired to argue. He wasn’t at all convinced this was the right course of action, given the demon situation, and he was even less sure he was strong enough to fight the temptation, but right now there was only one answer he could give.

  “Okay. Deal.”

Relief flashed across Dean’s face, lightening his features. He leaned across Sam and unlocked the restraints, then eased him up into a sitting position. Sam winced as every muscle complained at the movement.

  “Yeah, I know. Hot shower’ll help. Come on.”

Dean got Sam’s arm over his shoulder and hauled him upright. They made their slow, stumbling way up to the bathroom and Dean ran the hot water until it steamed, whilst Sam struggled weakly out of his disgusting clothes. He felt uncoordinated, still shaky, and so weary it was all he could do to stay standing.

  Dean gave him a sceptical look. “You ain’t gonna faint, are you? Passing out in the shower and drowning don’t look good as cause of death for a hunter.”

  “Your pep talks suck, you know that?” Sam limped towards the shower, leaning heavily against the washstand as his head spun.

  “For Chrissake…”

Dean stripped with brisk efficiency and guided him into the stall. Sam closed his eyes and let the heat burrow into his aching muscles, washing away the sweat and discomfort. He started as Dean’s hands began massaging his shoulders, then relaxed into the sure touch. The sick coldness began to shift, little by little, until his body no longer felt like a lead weight and his mind was pleasantly fuzzy.

Dean moved down his back, coaxing knots out of the muscles, until his knuckles brushed over Sam’s coccyx. He trailed his fingers back up over Sam’s ribs, pressing down over the sweep of his shoulderblades, and curled them in the hair at Sam’s nape. The pleasure in Sam’s brain coalesced into a definite pressure. He leaned into the solid mass of his brother, pushing against the hot point of Dean’s erection, and smiled at the resulting hiss.

  “You feeling up to this?” Dean said, slightly raspy. “Shower sex is… complicated.”

  “Use short words,” Sam slurred, tipping his head back to rest on Dean’s shoulder.

  “Bitch.”

The low growl in his ear made Sam’s neck tingle. He reached one hand back and dug his fingers into the meat of Dean’s ass, hauling him tight. Dean’s cock slid up against Sam’s crack, rubbing enticingly, and they both hissed. Dean’s hands slid round Sam’s ribs. One toyed with his nipples, flicking and rolling them into hard points of sensitivity. The other followed his happy trail down, sweeping firmly over the trembling muscles, to wrap around his cock in a glorious sensation of blanketing pressure. Sam groaned, his hips jolting forwards, desperately seeking more. Dean pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, teeth lightly grazing the skin.

  “I got you, little brother. Gonna remind you how your body oughta feel.”

Every inch of Sam’s skin was overwhelmed with sensation. Hot, high-pressure water pounded against his chest and shoulders, washing him clean. The rock-solid warmth of Dean’s body flush against his back, supporting him. Lips at his neck, nipping, caressing, savouring his taste. Tiles under his feet, muscle under his hands, the hard line of Dean’s cock thrusting gently between his legs. And, overwhelmingly, the caressing, cradling pump of Dean’s fingers around him, drawing slowly down from tip to root and back again, pushing his need higher and higher, centering his consciousness on the exquisite yearning of his body. It was a weight and a pressure and a pulsing beacon of sensation, anchoring him to his needy flesh, grounding him in want. He arched against Dean, panting heavily, pushing into that encompassing touch.

  Dean’s breathing in his ear sped up. He shifted, easing away from Sam’s back. “Brace against the wall, Sammy.”

Sam whined, not wanting to lose so much skin contact or the angle to thrust into Dean’s hand, but an insistent push between his shoulders bent him over. He put his palms flat against the cool tiles and felt the water wash over his back in a blanket of warmth. Dean nudged his feet further apart, dropping a sweet line of kisses down his spine.

A finger brushed over his balls, eliciting a moan. It stroked again, and again, curving around them, lifting and pressing, sending waves of delicious tingles through his thighs. Then it traced the cleft of his body backwards, slipping between his cheeks to rub lightly over his hole. Sam spread his legs further, silently urging his brother in. Dean’s hand tightened on his cock and he hung his head, gasping at the bright, sharp pulse of desire. The finger pushed more insistently against the furl of muscle, massaging in tiny circles, until he opened up and it slid deep into the aching space inside him. It stroked his walls, levering him wide. Then there was more, not enough to fill but closer, bringing the taste of possibility sweetly into comprehension. A sudden jolt of ecstasy surged through him, blinding, electrifying, flooding him with light. He cried out, pushing back, and Dean gave a filthy twist to his cock, making his knees loosen abruptly.

The fingers withdrew but he barely had a moment to feel empty before Dean was breaching him, slow and steady, free hand tight on his hip to hold him still. He was stretching, filled up, the long hot hardness pushing back the dark, leaving no room for anything but Dean and his own scalding need. He was pinned into himself between Dean’s hand and cock, soul and body held together in one glorious aching arc of space.

  “Oh God,” he gasped, shivering helplessly. “Oh God, Dean, I, I…”

  “I’m here,” Dean said, voice rough. “I got you.”

For a long, sweet moment they were still. Sam floated breathlessly on the surface of sensation, everything light and infinite. Then Dean eased back and in again, slow, so slow and tender that Sam choked with it, and the tide of pressure rose with every undulation. He needed more, his body pulsing with urgency as he reached blindly towards the peak. He shuddered and Dean groaned, hips jerking forwards with sudden speed. Lightning tore through him again as Dean ground against his prostate and he slammed backward with a cry.

  “Fuck,” Dean panted. “Sammy, I can’t, I gotta-”

  “Please, please, Dean, harder, oh God, harder…”

Dean moved his hand from hip to shoulder and gripped tight enough to bruise. He picked up his pace, thrusting into Sam with renewed urgency. Sam braced himself on one arm and covered Dean’s grip on his cock with the other, speeding him up. The peak was in sight, curling towards him in a rush of pressure and clenching need and breathlessness, lifting him higher and higher, until he crested with a cry, every muscle thrilling under tension, his mind alight with fireworks, and Dean was deep inside him in a scalding rush of shuddering release, gasping his name into the space between them as if it was the only sound in the world.

Sam leaned heavily against the wall, slowly sinking back into his body as his pulse steadied. The ache in his head and muscles was gone, replaced by a low tingle of relaxation. Dean took a deep breath and eased out of him with a cut-off grunt, then pulled him upright and wrapped him up in a tight embrace. A blissful smile crept across Sam’s face. He squeezed his brother’s arms.

  “Best withdrawal ever.”

  Dean snorted into his neck. “Next time how about we do it without the whole chaining-you-down-screaming thing.”

  “Hey, I’m willing to experiment with restraints if you are.”

  “You got a BDSM kink I don’t know about, Sammy?”

  “You know what they say: try anything once except incest and morris dancing.”

  Dean laughed and moved away to shut off the water. “Dude, you are not getting me dressed up in bells and ribbons.”

The image of his brother stretched out with handcuffs on his wrists and ankles caught Sam’s breath and he resolved to revisit this conversation later. He followed Dean out of the shower and caught the towel chucked at him before it smacked him in the face.

  “How long have I been out?” he asked, rubbing at his hair.

  “‘Bout a day.” Dean dried himself off roughly. “The others should have some news by now. Ready to take on the world again?”


	6. If you lose the devil gets your soul

They made their way up to the library, where Kevin was sitting with his head in his hands surrounded by a chaotic mass of paper and books.

  “Dude, you okay?” Dean asked in concern, touching his shoulder.

Kevin twitched as if electrocuted, flinching away. His skin was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and cracked, dry skin around his nose and mouth.

  “You look awful,” Sam said. “What happened?”

  “What happened?” Kevin’s voice high, on the edge of hysteria. He scrabbled around in the papers and unearthed the angel tablet. “I’ll tell you what happened. I’ve been up for 24 hours straight trying to read this fucking thing, that’s what happened. Whilst you two were getting your kink on in that creepy-ass dungeon, I was giving myself a migraine translating the Word of God. Again.”

  “Easy, Kev,” Benny said soothingly, coming in with a steaming mug of coffee. “Ain’t like Sam wanted to go through that.”

Kevin took the mug and subsided with a glower. Sam raised an eyebrow at Benny, who jerked his head back towards the war room.

  “He started seeing symbols in the lines of brickwork,” the vampire said in an undertone. “Don’t know if it’s just the tablet or something more, but the kid ain’t quite right.”

  “Has Cas taken a look at him?” Dean asked.

  “I’m gonna ask him when he gets back.”

  “Back?” Sam said sharply. “From where?”

  “Talking to Metatron again.” Benny held up his hands against Dean’s abrupt shift in tension. “If we’re going down this road, makes sense to get as much intel as possible.”

  “The guy’s a Grade A douchebag,” Dean growled.

  “And slippery as a catfish, I know. But Cas says he ain’t all that much in the muscles department.”

  “He doesn’t need to be,” Sam said, feeling a niggle of worry in his empty stomach. “Knowledge trumps strength. Metatron knows every spell going.”

There was a flutter of air and Castiel appeared next to them, looking none the worse for wear.

  “Not every spell,” he said in his gravelly voice. “And he seems to trust me, to some extent. Either that or he underestimates my intelligence.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Dean said, folding his arms belligerently. “The guy gives me the creeps. And that bar’s fucking high, y’know.”

  “Fortunately I do not require your permission to act,” Castiel said dryly.

  Benny cleared his throat. “Did he tell you the next trial?”

  “Yes. Take the bow of a cupid.”

  Dean raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam. “When we met that big naked touchy-feely asshole, did you notice him packing any Katniss kit? Because if he was, I don’t wanna know where he was keeping it.”

  “Cupid bows are not a physical manifestation of a weapon,” Castiel said patiently. “It is a mark which represents their power, their position.”

  “Do you have one?” Sam asked. “A mark, I mean, not a bow.”

  “My wings.”

  “Don’t all angels have those?” Dean said.

  “Only seraphs have six. To take the power of a seraph, whilst leaving them angelic, someone would have to cut off the top and bottom sets.”

  “So what d’you have to chop to get a cupid bow?” Sam said, the pit in his stomach deepening.

  Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Archers require hands.”

  “Wait, the second Trial is to amputate some poor fuck’s hands?” Dean took a half-step back.

Sam knew that the same expression of horror was on his face. The idea of cutting an angel’s wings off was bad enough, but it was a pretty abstract concept to a human. Losing hands, though… Sam looked down at his own, long fingered and strong. Without them he’d be utterly defenseless. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t wash or dress himself, couldn’t hold Dean down or sew him back together. To take all that from someone, even some _thing_ , was sickening. Monstrous.

For the greater good, wasn’t that their marching song? ‘Angel’ was just a word, a species, no more inherently inviolate than a genie, and just as capable of unpleasantness. He blinked, seeing ragged stumps dripping crimson, and his stomach lurched with the last drop of demon blood in his system. So much blood on his hands, their hands, why should they cavil at this little spill more?

  “Have you done it yet?” Benny asked Castiel quietly.

  “No. But Metatron is under the impression that is what I have gone to do now. Does Kevin have any further information from the angel tablet?”

  “Let’s ask him.”

  Dean waited until they’d gone through the archway before gripping Sam’s shoulder. “You good?”

  “Yeah.” Sam summoned up a smile.

  Dean held his look for a moment before giving a brief nod. “I know, Sammy. It’ll be okay.”

  Sam followed him into the library, mind temporarily rerouted onto a new train of thought. _Why, after so much evidence to the contrary, does that still make me feel better?_

They gathered around Kevin’s chaos of scribblings and the prophet leaned back in his chair.

  “I hit a wall translating into English,” he said, fingers moving restlessly across the litter of notes. “But I found an ancient codex linking the angel script to proto-Elamite cuneiform, and I was able translate the tablet and the footnotes which is… well, it’s extinct.”

  “Then how is that useful?” Dean demanded.

  Kevin shot him a glare. “Do you want to try doing this?”

  “So it’s like the Rosetta Stone?” Sam interrupted, trying to ease the tension. “We just need to find a way to translate the cuneiform into English, right?”

  Castiel held out a hand. “May I see the proto-Elamite?”

  Kevin held out a couple of crumpled pages filled with cramped little lines and triangles. Castiel bent his head over them.

  “Wait, you can read that?” Dean said.

  “I speak every language of Man,” the angel replied absently. “This describes the second Trial as the removal of anima from the divine light.”

  “You what now?”

  “The soul,” Benny said. “Hauling a soul outta heaven, I’m guessing.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” Sam said, thrusting the image of bleeding stumps away in relief. “The demon trials needed a soul taking out of Hell. The end result is basically the same, so the Trials should mirror each other.”

  “So why did Metatron want you to dismember a cupid?” Dean demanded. “What the hell’s he playing at?”

  “The heart of a nephilim, the bow of a cupid…” Castiel murmured, eyes distant. “Perhaps you were right, Dean. He does know a lot of spells.”

  Sam frowned. “You think he’s collecting ingredients? That’s a pretty high-powered shopping list. What kind of spell could he do with those?”

  Kevin grabbed his notes back, hands trembling. “Wait… wait, I saw something about cupids… See, most proto-Elamite is pretty abstract but I was able to decipher one phrase from the footnotes. Yes, here.” He raised his head, nostrils flaring. “‘Falling angels.’”

Static suddenly crackled through the air. Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms lift with a prickle. Benny’s lips pulled back a little, revealing the tips of his fangs. Dean went very still, on edge, his focus trained on Castiel.

  “Take it easy, man,” he said very softly. “Just chill, okay? Hey, Cas, look at me.”

  Very slowly, Castiel turned his head and Sam tensed. The angel’s eyes were blazing blue, light growing from his skin, his entire presence. The shadow of wings began to spread across the floor. The silver blade was in his hand, clenched tight. “He would use me to cast out our brothers and sisters?” The low growl shook the room. Dust fell from the bookshelves. Kevin’s coffee mug rattled across the desk.

  “So he’s a manipulative fucker with psychopathic tendencies,” Dean said, in that same calm voice. “This ain’t breaking news. And we’ll deal with him, okay? You and me, and Sam, and Benny, we’ll kick his ass from here to fucking Purgatory. But you can’t run off half-cocked to take him on, man, you don’t know what kinda juice he’s packing right now. So ease up on the light show and let’s think this through.”

  “I am a seraph!” Several books fell from nearby shelves. “He is a lowly scribe - he is NOTHING.”

  “He’s a walking lexicon of spells,” Sam said quickly, “and he’s had millennia to make plans.”

  “Focus on the bigger picture,” Dean added.

  Castiel’s eyes blazed, and Sam had to raise a hand against it. “ **You think the desolation of Heaven is small?!** ” The samurai sword across the room shattered.

  “Hey, Cas, I got a question,” Benny drawled, leaning back casually against the table. “If the gates of Heaven are closed, would it even be possible to cast the angels out?”

  The shadow of wings halted their progress up the far wall. “No.”

  “Alright, then.” Sam nodded at the vampire. “So let’s take care of these Trials quickly, before Metatron can go through with his plan, and then we’ll deal with him after.”

Castiel hesitated briefly, his dreadful gaze moving from Sam to Benny to Dean. Then, in a flurry that sent papers whirling into the air, he vanished.

  “Fuck!” Dean rammed his fist against his thigh. “Do we have any idea where Metatron even is, right now?”

  “No, and if we leave the bunker without Cas we’ll probably have Crowley’s minions breathing down our necks.” Sam pushed his hair back in frustration. “How can we even get a soul out of Heaven, anyway? I don’t think the reapers will help after what happened to Ajay.”

  “I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” Benny said with a smile.

Dean frowned but, before he could say anything, Castiel reappeared with a ball of blue light cradled in his hands.

  “I need a container,” he said peremptorily.

  “What kind?” Sam asked.

  “Anything. Now, Sam.” A thread of gold began to creep up Castiel’s forearm, gleaming through his shirt and coat.

Sam grabbed a small Japanese Imari vase from a shelf and held it out. Castiel carefully decanted the soul into it and replaced the stopper. Then, with a cut-off grunt, he turned his back and leaned heavily against a pillar.

  Benny took a step towards him, brow creased. “You okay there, brother?”

  “It’s the Trials,” Dean said gruffly. “Hurts like a bitch. Breathe through it, Cas.”

  Sam looked down at the delicate porcelain. Was it his imagination or did it feel slightly warmer? More… alive. “Two down,” he murmured. “Who did you take?”

  Castiel straightened up, keeping his back turned. “The nearest,” he said, slightly short of breath.

  Sam swallowed, resisting the urge to apologise to the soul in his hands, and turned to set it carefully back on the shelf. “Where will they go, if we do this?” he asked.

  “Where will what go?” Dean asked blankly.

  “Everyone. If there’s no Heaven or Hell, what’ll happen when we die? Will we end up in the other two? Faerie and… and R’lyeh?”

  “No.” Castiel turned. One half of his collar was turned up and his tie was askew. “Reapers carry souls to the Void, and they are processed into the correct destinations from there. Closing the gates removes that final stage.”

  “What about Purgatory?” Benny asked.

  “A substrata of Hell. If you are killed now, there is no return.”

 “Not sure if that’s good news or bad,” Dean muttered. “How you doing, man?”

  “I am okay.”

  “Sam?”

   _Ends justify means_ , Sam thought fiercely at himself. _Stealing souls, stranding them all in eternal nothingness… that’s better than the world being torn to pieces. Isn’t it?_

  “Sam!”

  “I’m fine.” He looked up and startled. Kevin was slumped in his chair, clutching at his head and sweating heavily. “Shit. Cas, can you help him?”

  “The headaches have been getting worse,” Benny said, bending over the prophet and trying to attract his attention. “Didn’t realise they were this bad.”

  Castiel touched two fingers to Kevin’s forehead and frowned. “There is a considerable build-up of dopamine in his synaptic cleft. Hydrogen, sodium, serotonin are all imbalanced and his liver is damaged. There are traces of benzoylmethylecgonine in his respiratory and circulatory systems.”

  “He’s been poisoned?” Dean demanded, looking around. “How? He hasn’t left the bunker since we got him back.”

  Sam looked down at the moaning prophet with a deep sense of sadness. “It’s self-administered,” he said softly.

  “Why would he poison himself?” Dean demanded.

  “It’s coke, Dean. That’s why he locks his room.”

  Dean turned a furious expression on Kevin. “You fucking idiot, what the fuck did you do that for?”

  _We did it to him._  Sam couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. He should have seen the signs. The headaches, the paranoia, the depression, they were all symptoms of cocaine addiction. But they were all symptoms of a hunter’s lifestyle too and he’d forgotten Kevin wasn’t a hunter. He’d forgotten the kid was just that - a kid who had been thrown into the life with no training, no explanation, filled up with divine power and tossed between Hell and hunting. Sam was the last person who could throw stones about his chosen coping method.

   Castiel straightened up. “I have cleansed his body of the drug, and healed the damage,” he said. “He will probably sleep for some time.” Then he reached for Dean’s forehead.

  “Woah!” Dean fended him off. “What’re you doing?”

  “Checking everyone.” Castiel reached again, avoiding Dean’s block, and touched his forehead. “You are not poisoned and your soul is making a good recovery.” Then he frowned.

  Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

  “There is something here.”

  “Dude, I’m fine,” Dean insisted.

  “This is not part of you.”

Without warning, Castiel shoved his other hand into Dean’s chest. Dean gave an agonised shout and collapsed backward on the floor. Sam threw himself down beside his brother, frantically checking him for injury.

  “Dean! You okay?”

  Dean raised his head to glare at Castiel. “What the fuck, man?”

  The angel held up a tiny black pearl that seemed to sizzle against his fingers. “This has Crowley’s stench all over it. He must have implanted it in the farmhouse.”

  Benny peered closer, wrinkling his nose. “What is it?”

  “An infernal listening device. A bug.” Castiel pressed his fingers together and the pearl disintegrated in a hiss of dark smoke. He looked at Sam and Dean, his expression dark. “Crowley has heard every word.”


	7. Fire on the mountain! Run, boys, run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pre-Elamite is actually a different cuneiform language, Akkadian, because I don't speak pre-Elamite. So sue me. ;-)

Personally, Sam didn’t think Crowley’s little 007 stunt was all that much to worry about. Closing the gates of Heaven was Crowley’s desired end-game anyway. He must be pleased (surprised, but pleased) to learn the Winchesters were on the case. Actually, it might even keep him off their backs. He was furious with them for making him homeless but in the past he’d always been pragmatic if they were doing his dirty work.

Mind you, the thought that they were ticking items off of his agenda didn’t exactly sit well with Sam. That whole thing with the Alphas had been a disaster from start to finish. If you were doing what the King of Hell wanted, maybe it was time to take a long hard look at your life. But Castiel had sounded pretty definite about the consequences of not cutting Heaven off, and Sam was damn sure they didn’t want a bunch of fallen angels dropped on their heads. So, basically, on with the show.

   Dean voiced a concern that Crowley would try to team up with Metatron. “It’s the option that causes the most damage,” he said. “And it strands the angels on Earth, like he is. He loves that ‘eye for an eye’ crap.”

  “But he’s got no way of making contact,” Sam pointed out. “It’s not like he can put an ad in the local Lonely Hearts column.”

  “He’ll find a way.”

  “Then we’d better get on with the final Trial and beat them both to the punch,” Benny said.

  “Except we have no clue what the third trial is,” Dean said, gesturing to where Kevin was slumped in his chair, “and our prophet’s sleeping off an angelic detox.”

  Sam tapped the pages of pre-Elamite notes scattered on the table. “Cas can read these, remember?”

There was a moment of silence. Dean looked chagrined, having clearly forgotten. Castiel held out a hand and Sam passed him the notes. He ran a finger down the squiggles of lines and triangles, eyes narrowing in concentration. Then he stopped. 

  Dean brightened. “You got it?”

  Castiel didn’t look away from the paper. “This cannot be correct.”

  Benny uncrossed his arms. “What’s it say?”

  “Leqûm ištu mārum šamû išātum.”

  “In English, Cas,” Dean said with an effort at patience.

  “Take the fire from a son of Heaven.”

  Dean glanced at Sam with a slight shrug. “That made about as much sense to me as the first time he read it.”

  “I’m guessing ‘son of Heaven’ means an angel,” Sam said, looking to Castiel for confirmation. “And the fire would be… grace?”

  “Don’t that kill you?” Benny asked.

  Castiel finally looked up, eyes wide and hurt. “No, it would turn the angel human. But I do not understand. Why would God ever write such an instruction?”

  “To make it fair,” Sam said slowly. “If He writes down how to shut off Hell, He has to do the same for Heaven. Checks and balances. The Trials are balanced too. The Demon Trial turned a demon human. It makes sense that the third Angel Trial does the same to an angel. They’re equal.”

  “The why’s don’t matter,” Dean interrupted. “What’s important is we know what to do.”

  Castiel shook his head. “I cannot do that to any of my brothers or sisters.”

  “Not even Metatron?” Dean said. “Douchebag’s planning to kick your entire family out of the ancestral digs.” Castiel paused, eyelids flickering, and Dean gave a satisfied nod. “That’s what I figured.”

  Sam took the notes back to return them to Kevin’s work area. His eyes casually skimmed down the page and caught on a repeated phrase. “Hey, Cas? How d’you pronounce an s with an upside-down circumflex?”

  “Shh,” Castiel said.

 

  “Huh.” Sam pointed to the page. “That phrase, mārum šamû išātum, it’s repeated down here. What’s that bit say?”

  Castiel came to look. “By the fire of a son of Heaven shall it know those to cast out, and falling angels shall light the skies below.”

  “What the fuck?” Dean crowded in close.

  “Well, damn,” Benny said slowly. “I guess you and Metatron both need the same final ingredient.”

  Castiel straightened up. “It makes no difference to the plan.”

  “It makes all the difference,” Dean said sharply. “You ain’t going in there alone, man. Not if he’s gunning for you. You need back-up.”

  “It is too dangerous.”

  “Yeah, like that’s ever stopped us.”

  “I know you want to protect us,” Sam said, “but there’s too much at stake here, Cas. If Metatron gets the jump on you, we can't finish the Angel Trials and the world falls into a black hole. You have to take us with you.”

  “I ain’t ever hunted angel before,” Benny said with a grin.  

  Castiel rolled his eyes.

  “Okay,” Dean said, straightening up. “I’ll grab weapons. Sam, you wanna put Kevin somewhere more comfortable? He’ll wake up with a bastard crick in his neck, we leave him there.”

Sam scooped the kid up - too light, too thin, how had he not noticed? - and headed down to the bedrooms. Kevin’s door was locked, of course, but Sam put his shoulder to it and the padlock burst after a couple of shoves. It was a mess inside - bed unmade, clothes strewn across the floor, and everything smelling musty with a sharp edge. Sam sighed, remembering the clean-cut Advanced Placement student Kevin had been when they met.

  “We really screwed you up, huh?” he muttered, laying the kid down as gently as he could. “I’m sorry, man. This isn’t a life I’d wish on anyone.”

He turned around and stopped. Dean was in the doorway, weapons-bag on his shoulder. He smiled slightly but Sam wasn’t even close to fooled. He’d heard and was hurt.

  “Dean…”

  “Come up when you’re done.” He headed off along the corridor.

  “Dammit, Dean…”

Sam strode after him and grabbed at his wrist. Dean shook him off with a sharp gesture. Sam rammed his forearm across Dean’s chest and pushed his brother sideways, against a wall. Dean’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Get off of me.”

  “No, you’re gonna listen to me. I’m done with this whole poor communications bullshit. You got any idea the number of times we’ve fucked up, or fucked each other up, because we didn’t deal with basic misunderstandings early on?”

  Dean shoved at his shoulders, glaring. “That don’t give you the right to hurl me into walls, asshole. Look, you wanna leave, then leave. I ain’t stopping you. Just have the balls to say it to my face.”

Sam felt a spurt of anger. After everything, after handing over half his damn soul, Dean still didn’t trust him to stick around. What was it going to take to get past his brother’s abandonment issues? How much more would he have to give?

  “You want to hear it? Fine. When you came to get me at school, I told myself it was one last job. Spending that much time with you, knowing I couldn’t have you? It fucking hurt, Dean. And when I lost Jess, again, I told myself one more job. There was always one more job, and one more job, and then I was gonna go back to law and my life, and get over you.”

  Dean’s face crumpled into misery. He swallowed hard, eyes gleaming. “I should’ve left you at Stanford. I knew it then and I still…”

  “Shut up.” Sam kissed him, bruisingly hard, banging his head against the wall. “I could’ve left any time and you wouldn’t have stopped me, and I knew that. I always knew that. I chose to stay.”

  “You said… Kevin…”

  “Most people get into hunting because of a tragedy. They don’t have training, they don’t know what to expect, and they’re usually scared and hurting and on their own. Of course I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s, pushing the temper back down. “But I’m not them. It took me a little while but I really understand now that... this is my life. I love it. And I love you, you jerk. I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”

 Dean drew in a deep breath and slid his hands down Sam’s ribs to rest on his hips. “Okay, Sammy,” he whispered. “Okay.”

  Sam kissed him again, soft this time, close-lipped and gentle. “Glad we cleared that up. Now, let’s go kick Metatron’s ass.”

Benny met them in the war room, looking angry.

   “Cas has gone.”

  Dean dropped the weapons-bag. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What happened?” Sam asked.

  “Said he heard a scream. Crowley cut off a cupid’s hands.”

  “Well, fuck.” Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair. “That took him all of an hour. You think he’s taking them to Metatron?”

  “It’s one hell of a getting-to-know-you present,” Benny drawled. The tendons in his neck were tense. “So I guess we’re two-all for ingredients, and no clue of where to go.”

Sam turned away in frustration and caught sight of the iPad lying on the map table. He reached for it and scrolled frantically up through the directory until he reached ‘Angel’. The map flickered and a bright blue dot appeared. Just one.

  Dean leaned over, frowning. “Just outside of Clinton, Missouri. Reckon I can make that in an hour, if I floor it.”

  Benny picked up the weapons-bag. “Best hope Cas can hold his own that long.”

 

 

* * *

 

They made it in 53 minutes, pulling up outside a cute little holiday bungalow on the shore of the reservoir. Sam climbed out of the car and shut the door quietly, narrowing his eyes.

  “This look too… normal to you?”

  Benny held up a hand, hushing him. He pointed towards the lowered blinds. “I can smell thunderstorms,” he murmured. “There’s an angel here.”

  “Alright then.” Dean popped the trunk and passed Sam his shotgun. “Seeing as how splitting up worked so well for us last time, everyone cool with going in the front door together?”

  “I’ll take point.” Benny picked up a machete.

The door opened easily onto a short hallway with walls covered in sigils. They paused whilst Sam scanned them quickly - demon and angel warding, concealment signs, silencing signs, and a couple of trigger runes - then belly-crawled past until they reached an open-plan kitchen with beautiful views of the reservoir.

  Dean got to his feet and looked around cautiously. “Any ideas, sniffer-dog?”

  Benny gestured towards a narrow door in the corner. “Basement.” Then he wrinkled his nose. “Sulphur.”

  “Crowley,” Sam said. He moved towards the door.

  “Easy, tiger.” Dean pushed a palm against his chest. “Let’s get the lay of the land before we throw ourselves down there. Could be Cas has the situation under control. Or could be we make things worse for him. Benny, you got the best hearing. Mind going first?”

  “My pleasure.” The vampire eased the knob round gently and opened the door a crack. He crouched with his ear pressed close, listening. “Two voices,” he whispered. “One English, one nasal.”

  “Crowley and Metatron,” Dean confirmed.

  “They’re arguing about who’s gonna finish the spell.”

  “Then they’ve got Cas,” Sam said, his stomach lurching.

  “Benny, move.”

Benny rolled aside, pulling the door open, as Dean leaped down the rickety staircase and opened fire. Sam was at his heels, swinging the shotgun in a wide arc. The basement was small, lit by a bare bulb. Castiel was slumped in a kitchen chair, gagged and bound, barely conscious. A thin slash across his throat trickled blood. Crowley stood beside him, holding an angel blade. Metatron dived for cover under the stairs, behind a table on which lay a heart and a pair of severed hands.

  “Get away from him!” Dean snarled at Crowley, taking aim.

  “Or what?” the demon said. “You’ve got nothing, boys. Moose already took his best shot.”

  Sam moved closer, careful not to disrupt Dean’s line of fire. His foot knocked a small glass vial, sending it spinning into the leg of Castiel’s chair. “I’ve dusted off the arsenal now. You wanna go again?”

  “You stink of sunshine and roses,” Crowley said disdainfully. “Nothing in the tank. That's a terrible bluff.”

He flicked his hand and an invisible force slammed into Sam. He went sideways with a yell, smashing into the wall bruisingly hard and pinned above the ground. His clothes flattened against him, belt buckle burrowing into his stomach. He couldn’t draw breath, ribs constricting, bending, eyes blurring. He heard Dean shouting, a roar from Benny, and a crash. His pulse hammered louder and louder, tears running down his cheeks. He felt a toe break as it was pushed flat, and another. Then a bright light flared and the unbearable pressure was abruptly gone. He collapsed to the floor, lungs dragging in air gratefully. Dean was at his side immediately, pulling him up against his shoulder.

  “Sammy, you alright?”

  Everything felt tenderised, his chest hurt and his toes were throbbing. “Fine,” he gasped. “What happened?”

  “Crowley bugged out when Benny got the jump on him,” Dean said with disgust. “Metatron grabbed the heart and hands, and followed.”

Sam blinked the tears out of his eyes. Benny was carefully righting Castiel’s chair, which appeared to have been knocked over in the struggle. The ropes fell away from Castiel’s wrists and both hands went to the wound on his throat. Benny shook his head and untied the gag.

  “It ain’t deep, brother. Just a scratch, you’ll be fine.”

  “Deep enough,” the angel grated, fingers moving.

  Sam saw a gleam of glass. “Cas, stop!”

But ethereal light was already threading into the vial, casting a blue tint to the walls. With a shout, Dean lunged to his feet and reached for Castiel’s wrists. The vial was knocked flying and smashed against the staircase with a high little crack. The blue light spiralled upwards and dissipated. Castiel looked at Dean.

  “We can’t risk giving Metatron more time,” he said.

  “You stupid son of a bitch, you said you’d let us help you!”

  The angel smiled sadly, His arm began to glow gold. “It was my mistake to fix.”

The gold intensified swiftly until it was a sun blazing in the centre of the room. Sam had to raise his arm against it, filled with a horrible deja-vu. A hurricane roared through the basement, shaking the foundations.The lightbulb danced madly and broke.

  Dean stumbled blindly backwards, falling over Sam with a yell. “Cas, no! CAS!”

There was no scream at the heart of the storm, only the sound of rafters shaking apart and the air twisting under pressure. Then, like a switch being flicked, the light was extinguished and the room fell still.

  Sam reached backwards until he encountered Dean’s arm. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Dean grunted. “Cas?”

  Silence.

  “Benny?”

  “Here, brother,” from the far side of the room.

Sam clambered upright, hauling Dean with him, and pulled out his lighter. The tiny pool of flickering fire caught the curve of a white-shirted shoulder. Sam moved closer slowly, dreading.

Castiel sat in the chair, chin on his chest. His eyes were closed and his mouth was twisted in a rictus of pain. Dean dropped to his knees in front of him, feeling desperately for a pulse.

  “Cas? Cas. Cas, no!” He looked up, naked grief on his face. “Sam, he’s gone.”

  Sam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “The Trials… without grace, he’s human. He couldn’t… The Trials need…”

  “No.” Dean straightened up, gaze fixed fiercely on the body of their friend. “Fuck the Trials.”

  “It was his choice,” Benny said gently.

  “It was the wrong choice.”

  “Not your call, brother.”

Dean whirled fiercely, fist swinging. Benny ducked under the blow, anticipating it, and wrapped his arms around Dean’s torso to pin him.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  The fight seemed to go out of Dean. “Cas,” he said brokenly into Benny’s shoulder.

  Sam reached down and closed Castiel’s eyes with trembling fingers. “Thank you,” he said, choking. He felt the tears break free and run down his cheeks. Didn’t try to check them. “Thank you for saving the world. For saving us. Thank you for everything.”

Then the lighter sputtered and burned out, and they were left in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of the series. I promise not to leave it here.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving kudos. It makes writers happy. :-)


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